


More Often

by coveredbyroses



Series: Birthday Drabbles 2018 [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:05:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You and Dean have a little fun outside the club.





	More Often

“Fuck, honey,” Dean groans, fingers firm and hot as they dent into your thighs. You hook your ankles just above his ass as your back molds against the wall. Oh yes––you can feel the heat of him through his pressed dress shirt. “Y’oughta wear dresses more often––” you can feel his belt buckle press at the strip of skin between your lace panties and bunched up cocktail dress.

The bricks are rough at your back, abrasive stone scraping at your skin as he grinds against you. “We oughta go to clubs more often,” you quip. The headlights of a passing car offers you a brief glimpse of sparkling, smiling teeth. His mouth catches on yours then; warm, soft, and full. He’s sucking at your lower lip, blunt nails biting into the bottoms of your thighs.

“Kinda glad the case was a bust,” Dean admits, whiskey-thick breath hot against your lips. “Otherwise I wouldn’t get to bang a hot chick in a dirty alley.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, hands grasping at his bulging triceps. “That’s a lot of standing…think you can handle it?” you challenge, lips twisting in a teasing grin.

“Can I handle it?” Dean echoes, rumbling voice mocking. He huffs a chuckle. “Question is, sweetheart––” He shifts down so that when he swings his hips, the solid metal of the buckle zings right into your clit––

“Can  _you_  handle it?”

You shudder, heat gathering under your breasts and dropping south.

You suck in a breath as a hand leaves your thigh to fist the elastic of your panties,  _yanking_  back, the fabric cutting into your flesh until it gives.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Those were my favorite.”

Dean doesn’t answer, knuckles brushing against your inner thigh as he works his own pants open. You tighten your grip on his arms, fingernails marking his skin through the polyester of his shirt as he guides himself against you.

The first, feather-light press of the blunt head pulls fresh slick from you, and you can feel your nipples hardening against your bra with pure, primal arousal.

Your back arches against brick as Dean finds your thigh again, fingers almost bruising as he eases you down his length.

He releases you, lets gravity drop you all the way down until your clit is mashed against a warm patch of skin not covered by expensive fabric.

He’s  _deliciously_  thick and  _deep_ , all of him pushed up inside you and you think you might come without even  _moving_.

His grip at your legs shifts, tightens and then, god, then you want to double over as he rocks back, the solid weight of him feels so  _sinfully_  good dragging against your sensitive walls.

You feel his muscles working underneath your fingers, reminding you of the invisible strength the hunter carries inside. He holds you against the rough wall like you weigh nothing, fucks up into into you and moans like it’s the  _best_  thing.

“Oh—fuck,” Dean chokes, voice like crushed stone.

“Yeah—” you gasp back, arching and clenching against him.

He moves faster, snaps his hips a little harder, and the pleasure zips up your spine, flickers across your scalp.

Your heels are still crossed with a bruising pressure, legs locked around him, as pumps faster and faster.

You get hand down in between your writhing bodies to rub at your clit—

And you’re falling within seconds, your insides tensing and locking around him as you keen into his damp-hot neck. He quickly follows; grunting deep, hips jamming against yours as spills into you.

“Yeah,” Dean pants, breathless.

“You oughta wear a dress more often.”


End file.
